Whales Weep Not
by DianeB
Summary: Set at the end of "ST IV: The Voyage Home" //yes, the one with the whales!//. Whatever happened to Dr. Gillian Taylor after she spun on her heel and walked away from Kirk after the Council proceedings?


Author's Note (11/00): And now for something Completely Different. This one answers the question everyone who's watched _Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home_ has asked: Whatever happened to Dr. Gillian Taylor after she spun on her heel and walked away from Kirk after the Council proceedings? Written in Spring, 1999. Rated PG.

Disclaimer: Paramount, er, CBS owns it all. Always has, always will. I accept this.

Whales Weep Not  
by DianeB

Dr. Gillian Taylor, twentieth-century whale biologist, was exhausted. She had been sitting here, speaking into a computer for the past two hours. Her head ached and so did her throat. Who knew this kind of work could take so much out of a person? She reached for her glass of water, took a sip, and swiveled in her chair to look out the window at the passing starfield, marveling for a moment at how far she had come (in both space _and_ time) from where she had been only a week ago.

At first, it had seemed like a great idea to begin her "300 years of catch-up learning" by accepting a temporary position aboard the science vessel _Chesapeake_, but almost immediately she questioned the wisdom of her decision.

It wasn't the spacesickness – although that had been bad enough. It _was_ that she missed her whales terribly. Even though the _Chesapeake_ would be returning to Earth, it would be another three weeks before it did so. She didn't know if she could wait that long, but she sure knew she didn't have a choice.

All things considered, however, leaving George and Gracie had been her only regret in all this. She had been honest with Admiral Kirk during their brief but heated argument outside the cloaked Klingon vessel in the park. She had told him she had no one in her century who would miss her, and it was true.

While she had never been without a bevy of friends as a child, as an adult, after her parents passed away, she had become a loner. Aside from Bob Briggs and one or two others at the Institute, her only friends were George and Gracie, and she simply could not let them travel three centuries into the future by themselves.

And so, while providing Kirk with the whales' radio frequency, Dr. Gillian Taylor made the most ultimate decision of her life: she leapt into his arms just at the moment of final beam-out. She was vaguely aware she was heading for the unknown, but she had no idea just how _unknown_ it would ultimately all turn out to be.

Her smart-ass question to Admiral Kirk about "who in the twenty-third century knows anything about humpback whales?" was answered in a big way barely seconds after she and the rest of the crew had been removed from the water and allowed to dry off.

_Absolutely no one_.

She suddenly found herself the sole keeper of all information regarding living humpbacks amid a veritable sea of unfamiliar faces and races. They clamored for her attention and her knowledge, making her head spin on more than one occasion with their questions and their fascination. The _Chesapeake_ had been the first to offer an assignment, and she jumped at it without thinking it would mean she would have to leave the whales that were her only connection to the world she had left behind.

She had accepted, boarded, and was gone into space mere hours after Admiral (er, no, _Captain_) Kirk's Council proceedings. She realized immediately the best thing to do was get to work. Checking the ship's computer on her first day, she had not been surprised to find the library held precious little information about humpback whales, aside from the fact they had been hunted to extinction, along with several other whale species. She also found a sidebar dated 1986 that mentioned the abrupt disappearance in Alaska of two tagged humpbacks, along with an outrageous account of an "unidentified flying object."

She exited the file before she could learn what might have been written about her own disappearance. No sense tempting fate anymore than she already had.

And so here she was on day eight, sitting behind a desk in space, dictating into a small, very quick machine that by some wizardry of twenty-third century technology was taking her spoken words and transferring them into script that scrolled effortlessly along the screen. Not only that, but a machine that also corrected the script in all the right places whenever she repeated something for clarity.

She had been sitting directly in front of it for over an hour before she realized the machine could hear her no matter where she was, even in the bathroom. She tried for a while to wander around the room, but in the end, she went back to sit at the desk in front of it, since it really didn't seem right to be anywhere else. It would probably be a long time before she got used to this contraption.

Instead of turning back to the machine to continue dictating, her brain hyperlinked to thoughts about other things in the realm of "getting used to," including the _Chesapeake_ herself and its small but diverse crew.

She had met the captain, a short, robust woman with wavy, shoulder-length black hair, who vaguely reminded Gillian of her college roommate, Gwen – except, of course, for the two tiny, rounded horns that protruded from that black hair and her eyes, which were a shade of lavender Gillian had never before seen. The woman's name was something else entirely. After several attempts at the captain's native language pronunciation, she had been allowed with great amusement to pronounce it "Megan Jones," although that was nowhere near what it sounded like when the captain pronounced it.

Gillian smiled remembering this incident, and into her amusement crept her one regret, effectively removing the smile. George and Gracie were no longer in the huge tank just out the back door. They were free, and their lives would be better than she could have ever hoped to imagine in the twentieth century, but they were still a very long way away, and she missed them fiercely.

She realized, too, that she was homesick for planet Earth itself, something she never thought she'd be. _Of course_, she thought ruefully,_ I've never been quite this far _away_ from Earth before_. Faint misgivings began to stir in her head, filling her with a melancholy that brought tears to her eyes.

Her stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, providing a welcome distraction from the path her mood was taking. Wiping her eyes, she realized she was both tired _and_ hungry and knew this combination always conspired to make every bad thing in her life seem more so. She decided she ought to go get something to eat.

Sighing with a puff of air that stirred her bangs, she rose and went for the door. The one thing she had finally learned was not to be startled whenever a door slid open on its own, but she still reached for a light switch every time she left a room.

**oOo oOo oOo**

In the mess, she sat by herself, staring forlornly at her dinner, a frighteningly pale imitation of her favorite pizza: large mushroom, pepperoni, with extra onions. She just rolled her eyes at her drink. Apparently, Michelob and all its cousins was a beverage unheard of in this century. She was busy poking at her pizza, deep into considering how unbearably long three weeks could be, when the seat opposite her filled.

"Hiya, Gracie, whatcha doing? Coz it sure don't look like you're eating."

She looked up and smiled. It was Ensign Lucas Manheim, a strapping young man with a full head of white-blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He was of Earth-Dutch descent, but not _from_ Earth (a subtle distinction, similar to "I'm from Iowa, I only work in outer space").

Ensign Manheim had taken to calling her "Gracie" ever since he heard about the whales. He said he had never seen a humpback whale in the flesh, had never even _heard_ of them before he'd met her, and couldn't wait for the day she would introduce him.

She would be eternally grateful for this young man. When she had first come aboard, feeling decidedly out of place and on display, he had been the only one with pluck and spunk enough to approach her, introduce himself, and offer to provide a tour of the ship and explanations of the totally foreign twenty-third century technology. He possessed a fine sense of humor and was immediately able to put her and the rest of the crew at ease as he dragged her around to all the ship's rec rooms and other off-duty hangouts.

He had also held a cool rag to her forehead as she suffered through several violent bouts of spacesickness, afraid to accept the doctor's offer of relief. The hypospray looked worse than the puking made her feel.

Lucas had even come tearing to her cabin one evening when a whopping case of the jitters slammed unexpectedly into her at the realization of just _where_ and _when_ she was. Armed as he was with a supply of twentieth-century board games (checkers, backgammon, pachisi, even Candyland) and his heightened sense of the absurd, he was able to calm her down enough that she could get to sleep.

In the past week, she had made friends with several other crewmembers, including Captain J'hens, but Lucas was special, the first, and he would forever remain in that place.

She finally came back to herself and responded to his question.

"I _am_ eating, buddy!" Her voice was raspy, sounding as though she had spent the past few hours in a smoky bar.

"Uh oh, you've been telling the database about the whales, haven't you?

She nodded.

"Well, hey, I know just the thing for you. Vulcan spice tea." He was up and over to the food slot before she could even think of a response. He returned with a steaming mug and set it down in front of her.

In return, she picked up a wedge of pizza and turned it towards him. He put his hands up in mock defense.

"Er, no thanks, Gracie. No offense, but it looks like something that came with you from 1986."

"Oh, fine." She stuck her tongue out at him, turned the wedge and shoved the end of it into her mouth, chewing placidly.

"C'mon, Dr. Taylor, drink up. Don't want it to get cold, though, um, I guess it's okay cold, too. Listen, I gotta go. I pulled the gamma shift tonight, and I've got some things to do before I go on duty. See you later, okay?"

She raised the mug to his departing back and took a sip. Not bad, though it was greener than she was used to in a hot tea. She finished and took her tray to the recycler, another marvel of twenty-third century technology.

She returned to her quarters to do what she had been doing every night for a week.

**oOo oOo oOo**

Entering her quarters, Gillian went straight to the console to check on her whales. Dr. Marla Sarn and her team from Starfleet Research & Development were monitoring them on a 24-hour basis. Knowing her anxiety over Gracie, Dr. Sarn or one of her team was always kind enough to write a daily update for her, even if the situation remained unchanged. Dr. Sarn's current report indicated all was well. While Gracie was overdue to give birth, she was presenting no signs of labor as of yet, nor any signs of distress or discomfort. George simply stayed beside her. It was all just a matter of time.

She then called up the final report Mr. Spock had made about George and Gracie, the corners of her mouth curving upward in anticipation.

She had spent an evening with Dr. McCoy and had learned from the doctor that while Mr. Spock could be amusing, it was always unintentional. Spock staked no claim in the Human emotion of humor, or any other Human emotion, for that matter, despite the fact he was half-Human. However, unintentional or not, the last few paragraphs of his report always brought a smile to her lips, and she usually ended her daily whale check with them.

_George is a little upset he has no one to sing to, but he is adjusting to the quiet, pleased with the knowledge of the pivotal role he played in bringing an end to the destruction of Earth by answering the Probe. Basically, he is content with the nature of his life as it is now and extremely happy to have Gracie by his side. He is looking forward to the birth of his son and to the day when he will be able to teach him the ancient songs of his species._

_Gracie is patiently waiting for her offspring to make his appearance in this new world; anxious to begin nurturing him. She is just as happy to have George by her side as he is to have her. _

_They will make excellent parents._

Another marvel. Here she sat, on a starship in space, reading a report that had been sent over subspace by a pointed-eared half-Human who had gotten his information by communicating telepathically with her whales.

Some things were going to take a _very_ long time to get used to. She cleared the screen.

Opening a communications channel and hearing the warble that indicated readiness, she spoke her newly-learned Starfleet codes and registration numbers for a Federation starship she had never seen. Adding an additional personal code, she stated her message, the same message she had been stating for a week: "Hey, farmboy, I told you I'd find you." The line obediently appeared on the screen. She blinked at it and sat there.

She had yet to actually _send_ this message.

Her door chimed. Still staring at her one-line message, she called out. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal her neighbor, a dark-skinned Human woman with the musical name of Kelly Lacey, with the rank of Lieutenant. Kelly worked in hydroponics and regularly brought her bouquets of brightly-colored flowers to brighten up the "Starfleet grays," as she called the interior colors of crew quarters.

Right now she was flowerless, wearing a red one-piece swimsuit and carrying a matching terrycloth beach towel. Arms akimbo, beach towel flung haphazardly over one shoulder, she strode to the middle of the room and stood there, one foot tapping in mock agitation.

"Hey, Jill, I thought you said you'd meet me at the pool at 1900. I'm doing this just for you, you know. Give me a good book any old time." She waved her arm in the air as a gesture of punctuation and returned it to her hip. "How long were you planning on keeping me waiting?"

Gillian jumped from her chair. "Oh, geez, Kelly, I'm sorry! I completely forgot! Give me one minute, okay?" She scurried into the bedroom, as Kelly flopped onto the couch to time her.

Gillian snatched her blue suit out of the top bureau drawer, hastily changed into it, grabbed a towel from the bathroom and was back in the living room in just about the minute she had promised.

"Good job, woman," Kelly said approvingly, "let's go."

As Kelly went out the door, Gillian came to a decision and made a slight detour to her console, whispering, "Computer, send message." She turned and exited, hurrying to catch up with Kelly, who was nearly to the turbolift.

**oOo oOo oOo**

In the pool, Gillian swam laps at a furious pace, leaving Kelly at the edge of the pool after the first twenty-five and then completely gone to her quarters and her books after fifty. Gillian swam another twenty-five laps before dragging herself from the water, exhausted. She exited the locker room, barely bothering to dry off, leaving a wet trail all the way back to her quarters, and completely unaware that she had done so.

In her quarters, she stripped quickly of the sticky suit, left it in a heap on the bathroom floor, dried what moisture was left on her skin, threw on her nightgown, and fell into bed. She was sound asleep before her head hit the pillow.

**oOo oOo oOo**

In the morning, Gillian rose and tested her voice in front of the bathroom mirror. It sounded fine and her throat didn't ache at all. Vulcan tea, indeed. She'd have to thank Spock in a big way when she saw him next. She wondered absently how he'd feel about chocolate.

She suddenly remembered the message she had sent the night before and was immediately availed of a light-headed adrenaline rush, which made her angry with herself. Just what the heck did she think she wanted from Jim Kirk, anyway?

Certainly, the man had a charm about him that was hard to resist, but she was not about to be taken for a fool, no matter _what_ century she was in. She had learned, during that same evening with the equally-charming Dr. McCoy, all about the good ship _Enterprise_ and a great deal about the infamous romantic dalliances of the Admir…Captain. She had no interest in becoming another notch on his bedpost, or wherever men assigned these notches in this time.

But (There was always a "but," wasn't there?), he had saved her whales, he had saved Earth, and he had barely made a comment about her eleventh-hour leap into his arms. Besides that, he had correctly quoted D.H. Lawrence! She didn't know any man in her century who could have done all that – and then on top of everything, been pleased to be demoted! She had to admit, he was a most remarkable man.

And then she knew what she wanted from Jim Kirk. It was simple, really. In all the ballyhoo with the whales, the trial, and her assignment, she had never really gotten a chance. She wondered if she would ever get it.

Hesitantly, she reached out and manually checked the computer to see if he had responded. He hadn't. She sighed and headed for the shower.

Clean and dressed, she departed her quarters for one of the large science labs, where she was assisting in cataloging the hundreds of plants the _Chesapeake_'s latest landing party had gathered from a planet that was probably…_what was the term?_…_light years_ away by now.

Upon arrival in the lab on this morning, she found things in an uproar. Dr. Ashad Akhram was ordering people around like a madman, certain he had made a valuable medical discovery in one of the plants during the wee hours of the ship's morning. She fell into the thick of things and remained that way for the entire morning, glad to have something to keep her mind occupied.

**oOo oOo oOo**

The remaining three weeks of the mission passed in this manner, becoming comfortably routine. Gillian's mornings were spent in the science lab, afternoons on history lessons, and early evenings dictating into the database. If you counted eating, sleeping, personal hygiene, and the occasional spurt of exercise, this schedule didn't leave her much time for meaningful internal reflection, which suited her just fine.

There _were_ some days, however, when she would skip the history lesson and join Lucas in one of the rec rooms for a game of three-dimensional chess, which she claimed to find _fascinating_. This word, delivered in perfect imitation of one Vulcan first officer, complete with deadpan look and raised eyebrow, never failed to send Lucas into fits of laughter, barely able to stay in his chair.

He had never met Spock, but he had seen plenty of videos and heard enough of the stories to know her impersonation wasn't off by much. He was awed from the start by the fact she knew the crew of the _Enterprise_ personally and had been an active participant in what was undoubtedly the most _colossal_ Kirk adventure of all.

Gillian waited until the day before they were due back on Earth to tell Lucas about her attempt to contact the captain. They were sitting on opposite sides of a three-dimensional chessboard when she brought it up.

"So. You have his personal code and all, huh? Has he responded?"

_Shit_. His tone reflected the _exact_ reason why she had been reluctant to tell him. She knew he had a crush on her, and she was afraid if she mentioned Kirk, she would hurt his feelings.

When they docked and she left the ship, she would probably not see Lucas again. She did not want to depart on such a low note. She reached around the cumbersome chessboard to place her hand on his arm.

"Lucas, this is just the reason I didn't want to tell you…"

To her surprise, he finished her sentence, taking the words right out of her head. "…because you knew I had a crush on you and you didn't want to hurt my feelings."

She gaped at him through the chessboard, speechless, leaning back in her chair.

"Hey, Gracie, if that was your reason, don't worry about it. _Of course_ I have a crush on you! Who wouldn't? You're gorgeous and smart and tons of fun to hang out with." Then he blushed crimson, looked away from her, and scooted his chair around beside her so he could look at her without having to peer through the chess pieces.

"Listen, no offense or anything, Dr. Taylor, but I'm not really into girls. You became my first and only exception the moment you materialized on the transporter pad. I mean, I don't wanna marry you or anything, but it doesn't mean I'm not a little jealous of Captain Kirk, either. Hey, no sweat. I can handle it." He put his palms up in a gesture of surrender and grinned widely at her.

For a moment, she wasn't sure if she was amused or upset by his words, and she could feel her face heating up. But what he said most definitely reminded her she was no longer in the year 1986. Clearly, he had come to terms with his feelings a long time ago and that these feelings were no big deal in the year 2286.

Considering the many different races she had encountered so far, including the mixed-race Mr. Spock, it would only seem right this issue would no longer be the hot button of hate and discrimination it once was. She sent a brief thought to acquaintances of hers still struggling daily with their civil rights regarding this subject. _Hang on, my friends, things are going to improve_.

Lucas, in the meantime, had charged on and she almost missed his comment.

"…answer my question."

She whipped her eyes into focus on his face. "Huh? Question?"

"Yes. You know, your message to the Captain? Has he responded?"

"Well, not yet, but I haven't checked my messages today."

He jumped to his feet. "Then what the heck are we sitting around here for?" He hauled her out of her seat, just missed sending the chessboard flying, and began to steer her out of the rec room.

**oOo oOo oOo**

Of course, Kirk had responded. Lucas hovered, anxious to learn a romance lesson from the greatest playboy of them all. Unfortunately, Kirk's message was uncluttered and bereft of even a hint of amour. _You found me, spacegirl. How about dinner when you get in?_ Also included were directions to an Italian bistro in San Francisco and specifics as to time.

Lucas was clearly disappointed.

**oOo oOo oOo**

Early the next morning, the _Chesapeake_ docked smoothly at Starbase Three and Gillian found herself in the corridor, walking towards the exit. Lucas was behind her, his arms full of her personal baggage. She was surprised by the conflicting emotions within her. While she was very glad to be almost back on Earth, she was not sure what she should do next. In the past four weeks, in spite of culture shock and spacesickness, the little vessel had become home. She wasn't sure she wanted to leave.

At the exit, a small crowd had gathered to see her off. Captain J'hens, of course, and Dr. Akhram, along with Kelly and a few others. Dr. Akhram came up and engulfed her in a big bear hug.

"You take care of yourself and those whales, Doc, okay? I'll miss you. I appreciate all the work you did for me, even if we didn't quite earn a Nobel Prize in medicine this time around." He chuckled and released her. She said her good-byes to everyone else and moved over to where Lucas stood with her bags, watching the captain's back as it retreated down the corridor towards her post on the bridge.

She turned and walked down the ramp towards the floor of the docking bay, releasing a heavy sigh. She realized she had been doing that a lot in the past month. Lucas spoke up behind her.

"Hey, Gracie, whatsa matter?"

She stopped at the base of the ramp and turned to him. "I didn't think I would feel this way, Luke. I'm going to miss this ship."

"Well, uh, why do you have to leave?"

"What?"

"I said," he said, shifting her bags in his arms to gain a better purchase on the duffel, "why do you have to…"

"For heaven's sake, Lucas, I know what you _said_, but what did you _mean_?"

With an exasperated look, he simply let her bags slide gently from his arms and walked down the ramp to her. "Listen, I know you have to see your whales, I understand about that, but when you're done, there's nothing stopping you from coming back here, is there? We can always use another scientist and we return to Earth four times a year, so you won't really ever have to leave George and Gracie."

In all honesty, it had never once crossed her mind that she could obtain a permanent berth aboard the _Chesapeake_. As a matter of fact, she had never considered much of anything after Gracie had her calf.

She gave herself a harsh reality check. In spite of her recent vague feelings of homesickness, what was on Earth for her anymore? Certainly all of her old haunts were long gone, including, she knew, the Maritime Cetacean Institute. She shuddered a moment at the thought of meeting descendants of Bob Briggs. Vaguely familiar faces, in completely unfamiliar surroundings. Oh, no, no, no.

She opened her arms and wrapped them around the startled ensign. "You're right! There's _nothing_ stopping me from coming back here once I'm sure Gracie and the calf are okay."

Lucas untangled himself from her embrace and shot back up the ramp, hollering with considerably less professionalism than would befit a proper Starfleet officer. "Captain J'hens! Hey, Captain! Guess what?"

**oOo oOo oOo**

Captain James T. Kirk sat by himself at Paolo's, munching on a breadstick, looking not for the first time at the chronometer on the wall. He had been stood up, but it wouldn't have been the first time for that, either. Just as he was reaching for his communicator, it beeped at him. He pulled it out and flipped it open.

"Kirk here."

"Jim? Captain J'hens. How are you?"

"Me'hgan. Nice to hear from you. I was just about to call you. I got word the ship docked okay, but when I asked the Officer of the Day about Gillian Taylor, she told me the doctor left the ship. We had plans to meet, and she hasn't shown up. I was starting to get worried."

"I bet you were, Jim," J'hens offered, huffing in amusement, "but that's why I'm calling. Dr. Taylor heard from R & D just as she was disembarking. Gracie's in labor. She shot out of here so fast, she barely had time to finish her request of me."

James Kirk was no slouch. "What was she asking of you?"

"She wants to return to the _Chesapeake_ after things are settled with her whales."

"That's great! Did you approve it?"

J'hens huffed again. "Of course I did. She'll be a valuable addition to my crew. As she was racing out my door, she mentioned you. I got her to stop for one more second to explain, and when she did, I told her I'd take care of it for her. She wanted you to know she was sorry about missing dinner, but she figured you'd understand in this case. Nevertheless, I got the distinct feeling she'd like to see you in Alaska, if you can tear yourself away from your meal."

"Oh?"

"Yes, she didn't _say_ those exact words, and I guess I'm gossiping here, but she _did_ say something about a surprise for you, and I figured you wouldn't want to wait around to find out what it was."

"Me'hgan, when did you get so good at reading me?"

"Oh, I don't know, Jim, must have been that time on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet two years ago…J'hens out."

James Tiberius Kirk chuckled.

**oOo oOo oOo**

Gillian sat at the open door of the shuttlecraft as it hovered evenly above the water. Her feet were dangling over the edge and she was soaked from the salty spray, but she continued to ignore the pilot's insistent _tsk_ing over the fact that she was dangerously close to falling in.

She was not concerned with herself, only with Gracie, whom she had just witnessed giving birth to the most perfect humpback whale calf Gillian had ever seen. But it was clear Gracie was unconcerned with the magnitude of her delivery or what it meant for the future of Earth. Gracie only had eyes for her baby. Gillian watched as the massive whale gently nudged her healthy newborn to the surface for a breath of air. She noticed George swimming nearby, obviously anxious about being so close, but unwilling to leave her. They looked perfect.

Any misgivings she might have harbored regarding her decision to come into the twenty-third century evaporated with her gaze. No matter how abrupt the decision had been, she knew with certainty this was where she was supposed to be.

The pilot spoke up. "Dr. Taylor, you're about to get a visitor." She heard the now-familiar whine of the transporter and cocked her head up in time to see James Kirk materialize behind her. Her movement upset her precarious balance and she felt herself slipping forward towards the water.

"Whoa!" She flailed, searching for something to grab onto. The nearest thing was a booted ankle. Luckily, the ankle was firmly attached to the deck of the shuttlecraft, and James Kirk was easily able to lift her to her feet and away from the open door.

"Oh, Admiral! I mean, Captain! I'm sorry!" He had brought her against him during his rescue and now his shirtfront was just as soaked as hers.

He chuckled warmly, standing her at arm's length, being sure she had her balance before releasing her. "It's all right, Dr. Taylor. We _are_ nearly in the ocean, after all. How're they doing?" He pointed towards the water, where he could just see a tiny flipper lightly slapping the surface of the water.

She brought him closer the open door, hanging onto his arm for support, and peered down, smiling widely. "Great, they're doing just great. Isn't he gorgeous?"

Kirk grabbed the doorframe and leaned further out for a good study of the giant little beast. "That he is." They both heard and ignored the pilot.

Looking at him, so intent on the whales, Gillian knew she would never have another chance like this.

"Captain…"

"Call me Jim," he interrupted over his shoulder.

She spoke to his back. "Oh, uh, Jim, I never really got a chance before, but I just wanted…I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for me and my whales. I mean, you risked your life, your ship, the…the Federation, everything, to bring these whales to this ocean. Thank you. And I'm sorry I missed dinner."

Jim Kirk had done some fantastic things in his relatively-short life. While some might have let it go to their heads, Kirk did not. Through it all, he remained a modest man from Iowa. Many would agree it was part of his charm, but the man himself remained oblivious to this fact.

He had turned towards her while she was speaking and was now smiling at her. "You're quite welcome, doctor. All in a day's work. I hope we can reschedule dinner. Trust me, that bistro is the best in San Francisco." Trying to sound as casual as possible, he changed the subject. "Oh, by the way, Captain J'hens mentioned something about a surprise you had for me…"

"Right! The calf. Guess what I named him?"

End


End file.
